


The Gaps Between Stars

by LadyLan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLan/pseuds/LadyLan
Summary: She needs off-world, and he’ll do anything, legal or otherwise, if the price is right.  The trip was supposed to be simple, but of course things are never as easy as that./ a VegeBul space AU /





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank a million to Piccolo is green and bitchytimemachine for beta-ing this first chapter.
> 
> I'm trash for space AUs, so here we go!

It was hot. Despite the distance from the closest star, Planet 0541 managed to maintain a humid sort of heat that kept its humanoid residents damp with sweat. Humanoid residents like Bulma Briefs, who pushed her way through the throng of street vendors, traders, residents, and planetary visitors despite being done with the day’s work and in no real rush to return to her one-bedroom apartment and overwatered ficus.

In the distance, tall structures loomed high above crowded streets. Little transporters and cargo ships zipped in and out of port. High above the grid of skyscrapers,  the blackness of space stretched infinitely in every direction. Beyond that, white stars speckled the dark and the occasional nebula painted the sky with soft hues of violet and pink and crimson. It was supposedly a more breathtaking view than from Earth, but it had been two generations since her planet was destroyed and even images of her homeworld were difficult to come by.   
  
Bulma continued to shoulder her way through the crowd, stopping only to buy a pin stick of takoyaki. She popped the first ball into her mouth--chewing on one side so that her cheek bulged unattractively.   
  
If Tights could see her now…   
  
The street widened, allowing the crowd to thin enough so that Bulma didn’t have to brush against anyone to get by, and she tossed the empty skewer into the closest over-filled waste bin, thrust her hand against the compactor button, and sighed as, unsurprisingly, the mechanism hissed but didn’t budge.

“Those’re always broken,” a passerby rasped, rolling his eyes to the sunless sky and continuing on without casting the pretty blue haired girl a second glance.   
  
And while a normal person might’ve carried about their evening without giving it a second thought, Bulma Briefs was not a normal person. Stomach full and mind whirling about how  _ she  _ could single-handedly fix the trash compactors in the city if only there was a way for her to get her hands on some honest work, she brimmed with a fantasy of bursting into the offices of waste management and demanding payment for fixing the city-wide problem.   
  
Her teetering of laughter was swallowed by the crowd, and when she turned onto the block where her eighth-floor flat was tucked, she skidded to a stop.   
  
“Shit.”

Outside her building a Galactic Patrol hover car was parked. Moving up and down the stairwell was a half dozen GP officers.

She knew the residents of her building well enough to know that if the Galactic Patrol were after anyone, it was most certainly her.   


Her boots ate pavement; she was weaving in and out of the crowd too quickly. Her brain screamed at her, reminding her that she was only going to attract attention. But it was silenced by another voice in her head yelling  _ shit shit shit shit  _ as she rounded the corner and took the steps up to the only person she could think to help in times like these two at a time.   
  
As she climbed the stairs, the three inches of exposed thigh between her boots and shorts lengthened to four, and by the time she was standing in front of his door she was panting, sweating and pounding her fist against metal so loudly she was surprised when none of his neighbors shouted at her.   
  
When he didn’t respond immediately to her frantic knocks, she shouted, “Goku!” through the thick metal door until she heard the clicking of a lock. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t hear her own erratic breathing. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, fell over one of her blue eyes, and clung to her eyelash as she stood there, trying to blink it away.   


The door opened and she forgot all about pesky sweat and Galactic Patrol officers. Her heartbeat continued to thrum against her ribs, her mouth opening, closing, and then opening again, but all she could manage to articulate was,   
  
“You aren’t Goku.”   
  
Because the man frowning back at her from the other side of Goku’s door was definitely, most certainly not Goku.

“No.” He said, his voice sharp like a knife's blade and nearly as cold. “I’m not.”   
  
And when he went to slam the door in her face, Bulma stuck her foot out and caught the brunt of metal with her toe and a curse. “Are you trying to hurt me?!”   
  
He glanced down at her boot in the crack of the doorway with barely a frown. “I wasn’t trying to do anything.” Then his dark eyes met hers and Bulma took an involuntary step backwards. “But if I  _ were _ trying to hurt you, trust me, you’d know.”   
  
Not above rolling her eyes at stupid death threats, Bulma pushed against the door with an open palm, but to no avail. Even though the man on the other side of the door looked nothing like Goku, he certainly possessed at least some of her friend’s strength. She glanced up, taking in the dramatic sweep of dark hair, allowing her eyes to trail over his sharp features and wide shoulders. He wore a grey hoodie that hid the possibility of a tail, but Bulma had a sneaking suspicion…   
  
“Where’s Goku?” she asked, and because she might’ve been weak and out of breath and a list of other unflattering things, she wasn’t a quitter, and so Bulma gave another pathetic push at the unyielding door.   


“Who’s Goku.” It wasn’t exactly a question, and she narrowed her blue eyes, testing him.   
  
“Where’s  _ Kakarot _ .”   
  
“Kakarot isn’t here. He’s off-world.”   
  
Bulma swallowed the lump of fear like a stone.   
  
“Doing what?” For the first time since she’d met the moody (probably) Saiyan on the other side of the door, her voice lost its usual haughty timbre. Now she felt vulnerable, helpless. And as soon as her mind caught up with her, she was probably going to start crying.   
  
Bulma noticed the way the man’s jaw tightened before responding. “He was called away on a mission that should’ve been  _ mine _ .”   
  
“Ah, well, you seem pretty torn up about that, but I don’t really have time for your problems right now when I’m busy dealing with my own.”

One of his brows arched, clearly unimpressed.

“Yeah. I need off-world, ASAP. And I’m willing to pay.” Her hands caught the chain around her neck. Between her breasts, a chip with a modest amount of galactic credit hung. None of it was legally obtained, but the man glaring back at her didn’t seem like the kind to get caught up on silly details like that.   
  
There was a long beat of silence. “Where to?”

“Anywhere. Doesn’t matter.”   
  
“Hmph. Four-hundred GCs for getting you off 0541, up front. Another two-hundred for food and supplies when we land. I don’t want to know what you did, and I’ll come after Kakarot if you can’t manage to pay.”   
  
She didn’t have any other options, and so she closed the distance between them with her outstretched hand and tried for a smile. It felt more like grimace.

“I’m Bulma, by the way.”   
  
“I don’t care.” Then he closed the door in her face. She stood there, shifting in her boots, sweating in the humid evening beneath the soft glow of Goku’s porch-light, half sure she was thoroughly abandoned before the door swung back open. A duffle bag was slung over one of his shoulders, and when he grasped the strap of it his hoodie sleeve fell down enough to let her catch a glimpse of a tanned forearm and the promise of muscle.   
  
He wasn’t much taller than she was, but his gait was quicker and Bulma had to jog to keep up.   
  
“I thought you’d left me,” she said, only because the silence was too suffocating. Some of her blue hair had freed itself from its ponytail and plastered itself to her sweat-drenched forehead. She plucked one damp strand from her cheek, tucking the stubborn lock behind a pale ear. It curled under and she fidgeted with it with some more, her legs burning from exhaustion.   
  
“I’m thinking about it.”   
  
She laughed, a bright, sunny sound in the dark. “Remind me not to pay you until your ship’s taken off.”   
  
He stilled. “I don’t have a ship. Currently.”

“You don’t have a wh--?!”  
  
The man stopped, and before Bulma’s eyes could take in his motions, one of his hands was clamped over her mouth, her words muffled against his palm.  
  
“Quiet, woman. You’re not exactly inconspicuous.”  
  
And Bulma swore for a hair's breadth of a second, his eyes raked down her frame. And then she was shoved none-too-gently backwards and his voice carried in the night,  
  
“But it’s fine. We’ll take Kakarot’s. He won’t miss it. And besides,” his teeth gleamed white in the darkness. “He stole my fucking mission. He won’t mind if I borrow his ship.”


	2. Chapter 2

Kakarot’s ship was a shithole. He tossed his duffle bag on the floor near the door, back muscles tightening at the sound of the female’s noisy footsteps, her muttered curses, and the creak of the door sliding closed behind her. The ship was an outdated model that the idiot never bothered updating. A small interplanetary cruiser with an open room boasting a kitchenette crowded with empty candy bar wrappers and instant ramen containers jammed against a seating area where a grey sectional was pointed at a holovision set which served as the singular decor in the room. Bulma opened her mouth to explain that the holovision set had been out of sorts since the cruiser’s owner hurled a joystick at it during a too-intense fighting game, but thought better of it and bit her lips together.   
  
Behind the sectional, squat port windows looked out into the vastness of space. To the back of the small cruiser seven stairs led to an open loft where Goku’s bed lay unmade. To the front, a control deck, two captains chairs and a rounded window with a smudge that made a vein in Vegeta’s temple throb. There was a single door that led to the bathroom, and both occupants cast it twin gazes of fear for its state.   
  
“Home sweet home,” Bulma said, her voice echoing in the small space of the near-empty ship.   
  
“I guess you’ll need some things.” Vegeta took a step inside. “I doubt Kakarot had the foresight to keep a spare toothbrush or shirt on his ship.”

There was the shadow of a haughty smile on the woman’s face as she answered, “I’m good.” Then, without further explanation, Bulma tugged the capsule kit out of her back pocket and laid it on the countertop of the small kitchenette, sweeping the plethora of empty wrappers into the rubbish bin in a single motion.   
  
Clicking open the kit, five capsules stared back at her. A hoverbike wouldn’t be of any use to her now, but the tool box, wardrobe, hygiene items and small ration of food would come in handy.   
  
Keeping her kit on her person had two advantages. The first being it made for a quicker escape, but it also ensured that her apartment was barren. No photos, nothing too personal in case the Galactic Patrol caught up to her.

When she turned, she found  _ him _ watching her. She had yet to learn much of anything about him, but somehow she’d been shoved into this predicament and he was the only one she could rely on.  
  
He met her gaze, his eyes flashing violence, and she knew she’d be a fool to trust him. He hadn’t even given her his name.   
  
“We should take off,” he said, taking six steps across the ship and settling himself into one of the captain’s chairs. “I haven’t flown a cruiser this small in a couple years.”   
  
“It’s like riding a bike,” Bulma offered, plopping into the seat at his left and grinning.   
  
“Haven’t ridden a hoverbike ever, but it can’t be all that different from a cargo ship…”   
  
“Is that what your missions usually entail? Driving cargo ships from port to port?” Her blue eyes were wide, curious. Vegeta met her gaze and scowled. “Kind of boring, to be honest. Goku’s never been very forthcoming about what kinds of odd jobs you boys are always running, but I hadn’t thought delivery drivers fit the bill…”   
  
“It isn’t. Usually.”   
  
“So, what kind of job is Goku on now? You know, the mission he supposedly stole from you.”   
  
Instead of answering, Vegeta turned his focus on the control panel. Flipping the engine to heat, starting the air circulation so that in a few moments the cabin would be full of stale, recycled air.  
  
“Are you going to ignore me the entire trip?”   
  
His outstretched fingers flexed to a fist. “Are you going to annoy me by attempting to make smalltalk the entire trip?”   
  
She smiled. “Probably.”   
  
“Fucking imbecile.”   
  
“Hey!” Her cheeks flushed with indignation, but he rapped his knuckles against the fuel gauge and Bulma’s temper flared anew.   
  
“Not you,” he mumbled. “Kakarot.”   
  
At his side, Bulma sighed. “Trust Goku to keep his tank near empty.” She read the gauge and did a quick calculation in her head. “It’s low, but we have plenty of fuel to get off-world. We won’t make it much further than the edge of the quadrant, though, so we’ll need to stop at 0567 or 68.”   
  
Just when he opened his mouth to let her know the fuel was coming out of her pay, the ship’s equivalent of a check-engine light flashed on and Bulma growled.  
  
“That numbskull! I repaired his compression cable last month but I  _ told him _ it needed to be replaced and not just patched up for a third time.”

“You’re Kakarot’s mechanic?” he asked. There was no indication in his tone that he seemed the least bit impressed, but Bulma couldn’t help it--she loved showing off.  
  
“Yep. The best ship mechanic on 0541.”  
  
He harrumphed and stood to his full height, peering down at her with a smirk. “Let’s see if you can manage to patch up that cable one more time. When we stop to refuel, you can replace it.”

“I assume the replacement parts are coming out of my pay,” she mumbled.   


“Hm. Maybe you  _ are  _ smarter than you act.”   
  


…..

 

Cable patched, Bulma tucked her number 03 capsule back into its case and wiped her grease-stained hands on her shorts. Then she quickly took her seat at the ship’s helm and buckled into the five-point harness with an eager smile.   
  
He was frowning at her, but she had to hand it to him--he did a good job of pretending not to give a shit about anything. She’d seen the surprise in his eyes when she’d popped her toolkit capsule, she’d felt him watching her every move as she set to work on repairing the compression cable, but he’d never once lowered himself to ask her a question, to inquire about what or how or why. Even though she could feel those dark eyes boring into her--wondering, calculating, assessing. He was too proud, and a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth when she decided that two could play that game. Annoying the shit out of her shipmate might just be the sole form of entertainment she’d get, and she was definitely going to enjoy herself.   
  
At her side, he turned the ship’s lights down, swapped the ship’s ion thrusters to launch, and wrapped a hand around the lever for takeoff.   
  
Bulma steeled herself as they began their ascent--ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut that always came with shifts in gravity and instead kept her gaze trained on the urban grid of skyscrapers that she’d called home for so many years. Somewhere, blocks away, the Galactic Patrol were probably done combing through her meager belongings. Somewhere further out was Goku—doing who knows what. Beyond that, everything was unknown.

Once they were safe to untangle themselves from their harnesses, Vegeta plugged in the coordinates for the closest planet suitable for refueling set the controls to autopolite.   
  
“Hey, thank you,” Bulma said as they each got to their feet.   
  
“I don’t want your thanks, just your money.”   
  
Her laughter filled the small space of the cabin. “Sure.”   
  
Yanking the necklace over her head, she revealed her credit chip and held it between them. Lifting a single brow, she asked, “Four-hundred for getting off world, right?”

Vegeta unzipped his duffle and pulled out a little square transmitter. Placing her chip on its top, she waited a moment until it prompted her for her code.   
  
He pulled it away. “Untraceable, correct?”   
  
Bulma rolled her eyes. “Of course.”   
  
And then she tapped in her code and sighed as it beeped to signal the transaction was complete. “So, I just paid you 400 Galactic Credits and we’re going to be stuck on this ship for a bit… Can you tell me your name so I don’t have to refer to you as  _ Goku’s Friend _ in my head all the time?”   
  
He made a face. “I am  _ not _ that idiot’s friend.”

“Okay, fine.” She paused with a roll of blue eyes. “Colleague, then.”   


“Vegeta,” he practically growled, and Bulma nearly dropped the credit chip.   
  
Oh.  _ Oh. _

He caught her expression. “Has that imbecile talked about me?”   
  
“No,” she replied, but bit her lower lip as she glanced at him from below her dark lashes. She’d heard that name before. Sometimes she and Goku and his brother would go drinking in the evening at their local bar and, after a few drinks, Raditz would get drunk and talk about their home world… Planet Vegeta.

Then she looked down at her hands, smeared with engine grease, and heaved a dramatic sigh. She was not looking forward to seeing herself in the mirror. It was a good thing she didn’t give a shit about what Vegeta thought she looked like. If he had been a tad bit flirtier or taller or more handsome, then  _ maybe _ . Sure, he was kind of attractive. And fit. And--

Bulma turned away to hide her flush. “I’m going to take a bath.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she took her capsule kit and retreated to the bathroom. Popping open the capsule with her collection of soaps and oils and eyeshadow pallets, she sorted through the messy tackle-box of bath supplies, littering the teensy countertop in her pursuit.   
  
Once she’d located her favorites, she turned on the water and fiddled with the foreign controls until she was confident she’d got it as hot as possible. Then Bulma dumped enough lavender oil into the water to make everything in the ship smell like purple blossoms for the next month.   
  
Finally, she climbed in and sank into the scented bath to her nose.   
  
Alone, exhausted, and 400 Galactic Credits poorer, Bulma Briefs let herself cry.

 

…….

 

When Bulma left the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body and tucked into her cleavage, a second tied in her hair, she was humming to herself.   
  
Vegeta paused in heating his dinner. The tiny ship smelled floral and sweet, and the wet, naked woman (who he sworn he’d heard sobbing just moments before) was now dancing as she moved across the ship.

As she climbed the stairs up to the open loft, she called over her shoulder, “There’s only one bed and I’m taking it.”   
  
Vegeta kept his glare trained on the microwave. “Fine. I can sleep on the sofa.” He hadn’t been looking forward to sleeping in Kakarot’s bed anyway.

When he heard the  _ plop _ of her wet towel and the rustling of clothing, he disappeared into the bathroom and froze.

His eyes went round. His frame shook with rage. The bathroom was cluttered with so much shit. How was it even possible? She’d barely been in here for thirty minutes… And where was she hiding all this?!   


With sudden clarity, he remembered those things… The box she’d made appear out of thin air when she’d set to work repairing the cable. Atom compressing? Was that possible? It wasn’t technology he was familiar with, so how did a petty thief from a planet like 0541 get her hands on something so...

Well. For as quickly as he’d agreed to help her, he realized he didn’t know all that much about her. She knew Kakarot, she had untraceable credits, and she’d wanted off world, fast.

But after the PTO had been disbanded and he’d been left a prince of a destroyed world without even a soldier’s purpose, he’d fallen into doing odd job. Jobs that allowed him to drift across the universe without much purpose, without any strings, doing whatever paid him enough to satiate his monstrous appetite--for food and for violence.

That was enough. This job was a minor inconvenience in a life of inconveniences. He didn’t care about Kakarot’s girlfriend or friend or whatever she was. He wouldn’t have time to learn why she kept a chip of untraceable credits around her neck and why she’d come banging on Kakarot’s door late that evening to get her off planet, fast. And he wasn’t interested in learning how she’d made a tool chest appear from thin air.

He just wanted to get paid and move onto the next job. Blow some shit up. Get revenge on Kakarot for getting assigned the best jobs-- _ again. _

Vegeta left the bathroom and found her smiling at him from the sofa. She’d removed her ridiculous boots, but now her bare legs were… He scowled.

“That’s my bed.”

“Well, you aren’t going to sleep already, are you?”   
  
He grunted. The holovision set was broken and he doubted Kakarot owned a single book, so what else was there to do? His dinner was probably sufficiently heated by now, so he set the cheap container on the countertop and inhaled the flavorless dinner.   
  
Bulma watched him eat, now convinced he was Saiyan.

Resting her chin on the back of the sofa, she asked, “So, Vegeta. What’s the plan?”   
  
He stopped eating. “The plan?”  
  
“Yeah. Where are we going?”  
  
“ _ We _ aren’t going anywhere. I’m refueling, you’re fixing the cable, and them I’m dropping you off at the first trade planet in the next system.”

Bulma pouted. “I haven’t even visited any of the planets in the next system. What if they’re awful? You’re really going to leave a beautiful girl on a planet to fend for herself?”   
  
“Nothing in the next system will be crappier than 0541,” he grunted. And he took another look at her and had the sinking suspicion that she was perfectly capable of making it on whatever shit planet he dropped her off on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun with this one, so I hope you're enjoying, too!
> 
> Also, I have a twitter! @LadyLan7 Let's be friends :)


End file.
